Do You Want Carnations, Artemisias, Amaranths, or Anemones?
by KanzanshinoKobashitonoKekyoku
Summary: Flowers have many meanings, Harry knew. He just didn't know what accepting this particular gloxinia would mean for him from this somewhat familiar man would mean. He never knew that with the occupation he has and what he has been through that he could still find someone like this. Huh, life just loves to f*ck with him doesn't it.
1. The Prologue

Disclaimer: HP's not mine.

* * *

The room was silent. No one dared to move, fearing that they would draw the Dark Lord's attention and suffer under his wand.

Red eyes swept across the crowd of kneeling followers, glaring icily at all that was present and the unrelentingly cruel glint in the rubies lingered on the useless follower he cursed. The man panting at his feet slowly stumbles to an upright position. "My lord," He starts, stopping to pant for breath. He gathers his courage and forges onwards. "I apologize for my incompetence and ask for another chance."

Those glacial eyes narrow and he speaks, a quiet yet resoundingly loud voice echoes throughout the stone room, "Stand."

The man does so shakily, his head still bowed. The Dark Lord brings out his wand. He points it at the trembling man. "Look up," He commands. Terrified eyes meet ruby red before it falls shut and the body is dead.

"The world is in our hands. We have worked far too hard, lost far too many to allow space for incompetence in our ranks. I will not tolerate failures that will lead this empire to be degraded to what it once was," He speaks with a dire threat underlying his words and all present understood the message: "Screw up and you die."

Still, everybody applauded at his words. When the room was calm once again the Dark Lord said, "Dismissed." And with a wave of his hand, he turned his back towards his followers and reseated himself on his throne. As everyone started to file out the room and the boy standing at the side of his throne also started to move he turned piercing eyes towards the boy and sharply said, "Not you Harry. Not you."

The boy immediately stopped, silently moving back to the spot he had occupied, his emerald eyes not once meeting or acknowledging that he had been spoken to. Voldemort frowned, but said nothing against it.

A few stragglers had lingered to see what this is about and wondered if they were about to enjoy another show when their Lord turned glaring eyes to them and they hurriedly fled the room. When the room was cleared, Voldemort called to Harry. Still, he elicited no response from the teen. "Harry," he snapped. The Chosen One turned his head slightly to the side, indicating that he was listening. Voldemort stood, walking gracefully down the steps from his throne to where Harry was standing as a pureblood would- though they both know that Tom isn't one.

The Dark Lord brought his fingers up to Harry's face, lightly tracing along his jawline. "Harry, my love." The boy flinched, he pretended to not notice. He tried to catch his lover's emerald gaze but the boy stubbornly kept his head down and face hidden from his view. Dropping all pretenses, he growled, "What is it that you want!?" he gripped Harry's jaw tightly, jerking his face to up to meet his. Blank, dead eyes stare into his own glowing crimson and the pain from the sight causes Voldemort to jerk away himself and turn around, his anger and subtly hidden guilt that he hadn't even known he possessed rolling off of him in waves.

The frustration with the boy not willing to be as he was before was bothering him, much as he is loathe to admit it. Ever since _that_ incident that the boy had witnessed along with the effect of the child then disappearing for two days before coming back all beaten up, the boy has been unwilling to be near him or even in his presence. He had even went as far as moving out of the room they had shared. The contact and interaction between the two has diminished to not even the stage of strangers anymore, but lower than even that. He has tolerated all those, since the boy had helped him gain the world. But this! This is something he cannot tolerate any longer. What does the boy want him to do?! Throughout all these months, he has done as the boy wished and had avoided contact. Even when the boy had retracted from all traces of life or existence, he has allowed him to go on. Yet the boy still refuses to even look at him. For some reason, that thought brings a stab of pain to the Dark Lord's heart and his throat starts to constrict from fear- but fear of what? He doesn't know, but he knows that this is all because of Harry Potter and his patience with this feeling is about to run out.

He heard the teen move towards him, but he made no indication that he's noticed. It was probably foolish of him to have turned his back towards a once enemy, but he knows that Harry loves him and even if he can't return that sentiment or even experience the feeling that possessed the boy to stay with a man who has hurt him more times that he should've in a life time, he knows that it's that feeling that would prevent harm befalling him with Harry. The boy stops right behind him and by the shuffling sounds of robes and a low resounding thud, Voldemort could tell that the boy is on his knees. He turns around, wondering why is it that the boy did such, and finds his head still bowed.

Having heard his Lord turn towards him, Harry spoke in a quiet voice that was cracking from disuse. "I want nothing my Lord." The monotony and deadness of the voice angered the Dark Lord all the more, but if it was anger at himself, at the boy, or at something else entirely he couldn't yet tell. He sent the boy out, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Harry stood, bowed slightly again and hurried out of the room, as if not wanting to stay in his presence for even a moment longer and for some reason that hurt. But Voldemort could do nothing about it as of now. What's done is done, and he shan't regret it now. He has the world in his palm and everything he has ever wanted is his, he should be happy.

But, he isn't.

* * *

Dead. Can he use that to describe what he feels? He doesn't know, he's never been dead before so he isn't sure if this is what it feels like to die over and over again, having your heart ripped out over and over again with fresh blood pouring it of it every second but yet still not dying. Everything is in black and white, nothing has color. He hasn't been able to see the beautiful colors of the world for quite some time now. When did it start again? Oh yes, that's right. It was because of _that _time that this has occurred.

He shakes his head at himself. No use crying over spilled milk. He should've seen this a mile away, before the Lord had even approached him. But he didn't. He was desperate and hurt. In fourth year, no one dared to trust him- no one even wanted to do so. Then in fifth year, Sirius had died. It was hard for him to cope, he didn't know who to trust anymore because they could all betray him at a moment's notice again. Then his Lord came and convinced him of lies that he himself didn't believe. But now it's too late, he's fallen too far.

Bitter, unbidden tears slowly fell. He stopped in the empty corridor and brought his hand up to his face, his hand flinching away from the skin as if it was burned when he felt the warm droplets. Features slowly twisting painfully, he dropped to the floor and brought both hands up to cover his face, trying and failing to stifle his sobs and tears.

He's lost, broken, and the only one who could fix him doesn't know how to.

* * *

The figure hidden from view clenched his hands and held it at his chest, restraining himself from letting out an accidental burst of magic at whoever had done this. Hie eyes gleamed eerily. He'd have _him._ That's the only reason he's here. He'll not let him slip from his grasp _again._

All the while it was unnoticed by the two who were caught up in their emotions of a man who had just happened by. Uninterested eyes lingered on Harry's keeled over body before training itself at the spot where _someone _was hiding. Well, this will prove to be an interesting pastime.


	2. Thomas Servolo Indovinello

Disclaimer: HP not mine. Story mine. Edited the part of Draco in ch. 1.

* * *

He let out a silent sigh, unheard by anyone but himself. He looks into the mirror in front of him, forcing him to face the reality of matters. Bags had been steadily stretching beneath his eyes as weary day after weary day dragged on. The pallor appearance he wore caused him to always have a glamour up; not that anyone would care if he was sick or not, he just didn't want to feel so weak and defenseless in front of them. He rinses his face again, as if that would wake him up and tell him that all this was but a dream and he'd wake up in the warm embrace of _him_ again- No! He shakes his head furiously to chase those kinds of thoughts away. There's no time to be thinking of things like that now. His Lord's empire was just starting to be built and alliances are shaky at best as of the moment. Not to mention the clean up process of the Order of the Phoenix.

The Order of the Phoenix; a mirthless laugh escapes him as a wheeze of air. Pain builds up in his chest, but he has no way of letting out his pent up emotions. He had abandoned them, the people who had relied on a young child to save a whole country; putting all their hope and a too heavy burden on him. He despised them for that, but those were also the people who had given him many things and had taken many others away just as how it is right now. His life will always be just as so- Give and take; nothing more.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Harry goes about his rounds; checking up on how some of the new knights were doing before going to his post at Hogwarts. He had become the DADA teacher there after the... spat that he had with his Lord, living there to watch over the students and to train young death eaters who are now called knights. Though there's no more need for death eaters since his Lord has taken over. Death eaters was the name that was given to soldiers who yearned to be the Dark Lord's army, but somewhere along the way it had changed to knights. It started quite simple really. Someone mentioned something about the Knights of Walpurgis and someway or another it became a weird rumor about being undefeatable hence the name stuck and took the place of death eaters, it sounded better anyways. Shaking his head at the silliness of people, Harry walks out of his portrait door... Only to run into something.

"Oomph!" Correction; someone.

Carefully regaining balance by holding onto the frame of the portrait, Harry steadied himself before looking down to see who he had run into. "Oh," He said when he saw that it was a student- a normal one, not one of the ones training to become a soldier so it means that Harry didn't teach this boy therefore there's no reason for him to be here, and yet he was.

You see, the school had been reformed after Voldemort took over and the curriculum and the way things worked were changed almost all in one night, making it hard for some to cope and therefore dropped out which was quite nice since now it wasn't as hectic as it was before with only half as many students. There are no more Houses now, only students who follow the normal curriculum and specially selected students, ten from each year, who are put into the group that will eventually end up under Voldemort's services.

Harry looked at the child who looked no older than sixteen blankly. As the boy snapped out of his daze, he hurriedly stood up and stammered out an apology before bowing a little and leaving. Harry watched him go. The boy was limping slightly and he clutched his left arm which seemed to be twisted in quite a painful angle. The normal students were usually left alone except for the occasional harrassment from the students in the group to become knights, but this looks to be more than that. The look of absolute hatred that flicked through the boy's face that made Harry even wonder if he had saw it in the first place was not uncommon, but then betrayal and agony flashed through those brown orbs before the child's features were smoothed out and he stumbled out an apology and Harry felt a kindred spirit.

Harry unconsciously reached out to him, lightly holding onto the sleeve of the boy and pulled on it a little. The boy turned, apprehension clearly shown on his face for there was no reason for Harry to have stopped him since he hadn't done anything wrong -at least he didn't think he did anything wrong- nor was he a student of his. Usually, when this occurs with one of the teachers it means that no good would be coming because when was it ever good if a teacher was going to call you out.

Harry murmured quietly, voice cracking from disuse, "Wait here."

The boy waited for the professor to come back with a task in hand or something else while leaning against the wall, careful to keep his bloody arm under his sleeve and not stain the stones. But what happened after the professor came out was something completely unexpected and it completely threw him for a loop, leaving him just standing there looking like an idiot and baffled as no one has ever seen before.

Harry came back after a few minutes of waiting, handing the boy a flower, who took it with the hand that was holding onto his injured left arm. He said, "It's for you." Before he turned and closed his portrait door and walked calmly down the hall as if he hadn't just done something outrageous in this crazy world where no mercy or sympathy is shown to the weak.

The teen stood there, staring stupidly at the back of the retreating professor before looking down at the flower in his hand. It was a gladiolus. A small smile lit up his face, showing his youth instead of those negative emotions that made him seem as if he aged more than ten years. He gently caressed the petals before slowly limping away. Maybe it won't be so bad to be here, the muggleborn thought.

* * *

Harry couldn't stand the sliences, but it's what he reveled in and yearned for dearly because that's one things they can't forcefully take from him. Because, it meant that he had one upped that bastard. Again. If it were him back before this maybe he would have even smirked victoriously, but he can't find it in himself to do so anymore. Don't mistaken him; he still feels satisfaction, but- but it's just... Never mind. Don't think about it.

Harry stares blankly at the man before him, features not letting slip any thoughts he had. The man eyed him wairly before sighing wearily, but of course he had more mannerisms than that unlike the uncouth plebian in front of him, so it came out more as a release of breath than a tiresome sigh. He straightened up, no longer bending slightly to look Potter in the eyes because it would seem that no emotion would ever flicker through them anymore anyways.

He looked over him again, but with a critical eye this time. Potter would've made such a fantastic Slytherin with him having an almost perfect mask. If he wasn't such a sap with a hero-complex who wants to save everyone, including the muggles, he would've been ideal, but that could have only been said if he was like this _before _he changed sides. He has shown many sides of him to be cunning, but he had just hid it so well under his facade that he had even tricked himself! Potter is brilliant, he'll admit to himself, but his feelings get in the way, serving to cause him to feel only disdain for the smaller boy whichalways somehow end up as something else. Hence the reason why he goes to such lengths to taunt him and try to make him seeth with cold anger, making him want to get revenge by petty but cunning means so that he could show to everyone that he's but a snake in a lion's clothing, but that has never worked and even now he only reacts with a stoic front.

Never mind that though. He waved away all those thoughts. He was here to tell Potter something. "Potter." The addressed person lifts his head slightly to meet grey eyes, showing that he's listening. He takes out a slip of paper and hands it to the Chosen One. Potter takes it, not evening checking to see if some sort of spell was put on it. Many of the people around him does that, giving him things that were either cursed or hexed, but Potter just takes it in stride and deals with it in silence as he's always done since _that _incident.

Potter opens the note and reads it before tilting his head slightly to thank him and heading off to whatever it is he needs to do for the Dark Lord. The dead look in those green eyes frighten him- not that he'd ever admit it, even to himself.

After Harry was gone from his sight, he leans heavily against the wall of the corridor and runs a hand through his neatly styled hair, mussing it up, but he didn't care; nowadays everything is just so stuffy that he needs a breather. He runs a hand down his face as if it would drag all of his weariness with it away before sighing again. He's sighing way too much today, but then again he always sighs a lot when it comes to one Harry Potter. That guy has never been the same guy he was when he was in Hogwarts after _that _incident. Everbody knows of it, but no one speaks of it for fear of incurring the Dark Lord's wrath. Still, people taunt Potter and demean him whenever they are allowed the chance. Potter does nothing and that frustrates the Hell out of him. He just wants to scream at the 'Boy Wonder' and tell him to act as the rash Gryffindor he always was, but he can't. Because Potter himself has given up. And Draco Malfoy hates that Voldemort has destroyed the fire in those emeralds that has given him joy before.

* * *

Nicholas Tavish Walker has never prided himself on anything other than being normal, so how he ended up in this sort of situation, he didn't know.

"What, is the little boy afraid? Has he wet his pants and wants to cry for mummy now?" An older boy jeered, leering at him with malicious eyes.

"Yeah, yeah!" Another goes.

"Oh, the little f*g is tearing up!" A third shouts, laughing along with the others when tears do spring up.

He doesn't know what these people want with him and he's scared. Despite being one of those specially selected students, he was picked for his ability to be a tactician and he counted on not having to actually go out to face people for his job, just to make plans. So these older students from the normal section cornering him and dragging him to a desolate area of the school is simply terrifying to the shy and introverted Nicholas. Even if he's a pureblood and was raised to be a perfect one, his family was quite lenient, always allowing him to skive when he shows them his puppy face, but he doesn't think that that will work with these frightening people.

He tries to calm himself. He needs to think up a plan, he's done this before, they've tested him and he's able to see the gaps in other plans and attack at that weak spot to overcome his enemies. He can do this again, it's just that if he messes up this time he'll be beaten to a pulp. Okay, bad thought. The older students are starting to crowd in now, spending too much time thinking isn't good, have to take a look at your surroundings before going into deep thought next time, now he has no time to plan anything at all. Desperation overcomes him and he panics, trying to find an escape route between the group of boys surrounding him.

But suddenly, the boys were not a worry to him anymore. In a blink of an eye, he found the boys neatly tied up with ropes and thrown into a pile to the other side of the secluded area they were in. He slowly looks up from his hands, having buried his face in them to try to protect it from the oncoming attacks. He meets eyes that held the most beautiful shade of green that he's ever seen before, but something was wrong with them. He stared a little longer, unbridled curiosity pouring out from his very core. Then he realized what was out of place. Oh. _Oh. _That void look in those eyes don't match up to the man in front of him. It just seems so _wrong _for this man to have eyes empty of emotions and features telling, not even to a single soul, nothing. Then he's abruptly hit with another epiphany. Lifeless green eyes? His eyes wander up. Messy black hair? It heads back down a little bit this time. A lightning bolt shaped scar? This was _Harry Potter,_ his _DADA professor_! Oh Merlin, what an embarrassing moment! And witnessed by his favorite teacher no less.

Nicholas scrambles to get out a word of thanks. He stutters, head lowered demurely and a blush decorating his delicate cheeks, "I-I, um, uh... Ah! I- Thankyouverymuchforhelpingme," He finally rushes out at the end. Eloquent much, he thinks sarcastically to himself. But when he looks up, the man was gone. Now he's fired up. He's determined to thank his professor and pay him back for what he did for him.

* * *

He was determined not to lose. Harry Potter has been through much more than anyone could've ever experienced, and he's able to hold out. He won't give in to this boy who's taken to practically stalking him around.

Just a few days ago, he helped this kid out because of all things he hated the most, it was bullies that got to him. Not to mention, he thinks that this kid was being accosted for reasons that didn't involve his personal doings. Because, this child looks awfully a lot like that normal student that Harry gave the gladiolus he conjured to. There was most likely some business that involved that boy who was injured. But those were things that the normal teachers worried about, it doesn't concern him. Or at least that's what he keeps telling himself.

He tells himself a lot of things nowadays. Tells himself that he won't break. Tells himself that he's not already broken. Tells himself to stand strong, that he has enough strength in him to not fall. Tells himself that there's no pain. Tells himself that it doesn't hurt. Tells himself that everything's alright. But who's he lying to? He's not fooling other people at all, much less himself. Even that stupid git, Malfoy, expressed his worry in his own convoluted way; Harry's known the man long enough to tell even if they had been rivals for most of that time and is just barely acquaintances now. Then again, Malfoy's the only one who bothers with him anymore. The others just like to torment, sneer, ridicule, mock, insult, and provoke him to try to get some reaction from the almost mute and cold as stone Harry Potter.

Now, there's another one-or two, if you count the normal student who's name he never caught coming to him to just sit in a comfortable silence together, knowing that the other needs it- who bothers. Harry doesn't know what to think of it. He just wanted to heal in silence, believing that time could mend a broken heart. Though of course he doesn't admit that part about himself, but then what is the reason that he studies the arts of the Healers and flowers?

He had, somehow one way or another, got the notion and hoped that becoming a Healer could mend a broken heart and flowers were just something revolving around his life that he wanted to know about because the meanings of how one single little difference between each flower could change was mesmerizing to Harry and it gave him the silly thought that maybe if he did one little different thing then maybe this wouldn't have been what he's ended up with. Maybe it was his desperate mind that wanted to give him something to hold onto, a shred of hope that's obviously not real, that these thoughts even came up. So he shuts down his whole being, just living by the day. Yet, he still studies those things because somewhere, very deep inside of him, he wishes for everything to be as it was before _that._

It's so very hard for him. Everything is just so oppressing. He may not be able to stand any longer. Somebody, please help him before he completely shatters.

* * *

It was just another day for Harry when he bumps into _him. _He didn't recognize the face at first, but it slowly came back to him, the memory trickling in little by little. He had puzzled over it many a day before he reached his conclusion, but when he finally did, he didn't know what to feel, or what to think for that matter of fact. Not to mention that when he finally realized that, he had already been whisked away. Literally.

It was an accident really. Well, at least for Harry it was, but it may have been orchestrated to be played out like this anyway. Harry knows him too well that the latter option is most likely the truth though when confronted with it it's obvious that the man will deny it.

It was a quiet day that day. Harry was just idly sitting in the library, listening to the low chatter of the students and trying to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere of the room since being stuck in his rooms for long periods of time isn't healthy at all. Then again, by his slim frame that shows as if he's about to be blown over by a slight wind and his pallor skin along with his panda eyes, it shows that he doesn't care much about his health. He just didn't want to feel the suffocating lonliness that haunts him day and night and other matters that plagues him that he's pushed to the back of his mind that being in the quiet of his rooms brings back.

Then, out of nowhere, a book drops harshly and loudly down on the table he's at, startling him and jostling him out of his thoughts. The librarian, Mrs. Pince, looks at him disapprovingly and would have made to snap at him if not for the man that came over, raised his hand in apology and turned to Harry. Harry had never seen the man before, but he jolted at the feel of the familiar presence yet he couldn't exactly pinpoint where he felt this before. Everything's a little blurry around the edges to him now for he spends more of his time letting his feelings float somewhere behind the thick barrier of blankness that he sometimes forget about things.

The man gestured to the seat next to Harry, asking for permission to sit. Harry stared at him, not responding. The man took that as an affirmitive and sat. Wavy brown hair was neatly brushed away from eyes of a royal blue color, and his aristocratic features gave the man an air of a regal noble. Harry inched away slightly. The man gave off an aura of affablitiy and sent an apologetic look in Harry's direction; Harry didn't like it.

"I apologize for that unseemly display. The student of whom I was trying to teach a levitating spell to lost control for a moment, causing the book to have flown to you. I hope you weren't startled?" The man asks.

Harry shook his head minutely, a little out of it, still trying to find an escape route. He didn't want to stay in this man's company. Harry stared at him impassionately. The man stared back. The man smiled and said, "Well, then I'll be taking my leave."

Grabbing the book, he stood and left. Harry never wondered about what a man like him would be doing here because he obviously wasn't a student or even a teacher that Harry knows of. Well, no matter. It wasn't like he would be seeing the man again soon. He'll be sorry for being careless and sorely underestimating his words and luck.

* * *

"Oh, what a coincidence."

Harry would've jumped in surprise or groaned, but he was able to refrain from such 'undiginified actions' as the man dubbed it so. The only sign of him being caught off guard was the small twitch found in his left eyebrow.

The man smiled genially enough, though Harry could still spot an underlining of amusement in the man's demeanor. He fought off a scowl. This man, for some reason, brought out these emotions that he can't recall feeling for the past few years. Harry didn't like it- No, he's afraid of it. Afraid that the ability to feel once again will bring nothing but pain to him. Afraid that this man who's making him open up again, will take everything of him. Afraid that he'll once again give all of himself away. He hasn't even recovered from the last time of doing so. The pieces he's found are jagged around the edges, and he tries desperately to fit them together so he'll be whole, but like shards of glass and the wrong pieces to different puzzles, that doesn't work and he ends up with bloody fingers from being cut.

"So," the man starts, falling into a stroll next to Harry, and somehow pulling it off to make it look graceful, "I'm afraid I still haven't caught your name even after having such an amount of- ah, _coincidental_ meetings." He's still smiling, but Harry feels as if the man's smirking and he holds in the urge to growl at him to stop being so coy. Not to mention, it's odd for the man to not know who he is already. Is he mocking him or something?

Harry eyes the man in his peripheral vision uneasily. Why, in all of the seven Hells, is this man following him around anyway? They bump into each other little enough to be coincidences but with Harry, these 'little' run-ins seem to be no such thing for it happens a bit too often to be such. Then again, Harry can't exactly say that he doesn't enjoy seeing this mysterious man. He may not look it at first glance, seeming all to the world the perfect gentleman, but he has a sarcastic side that manages to lift the tips of Harry's mouth a bit everytime they meet, and the tilt upwards seems to be climbing higher and higher, and harder for Harry to ignore. Then there's his serious side where he's able to discuss many things with Harry about the defects of their modern society and the one governed by the Ministry of Magic beforehand. The most amazing thing of all that is he's able to communicate with Harry even though Harry barely contributes and when he does, it's in his own little secretive way that's immediately spotted by the man. Harry sighs mentally; this is getting out of hand. He can't continue on like this. He decides to go with the tactic that he always use and promptly ignores the man. Because, if not, Harry's not sure if he'll be able to stand the tear in his heart this time after the man leaves him. It's not a matter of if, but a matter of when.

The man continues, looking to be ignorant of Harry's internal turmoil, but his sharp blue eyes gives him away, "Is there something of matter on your mind?"

Harry stiffens. He really hates how the man could just see through him like this. It makes him feel naked, vulnerable, and he despises feeling that way, because it means that someone else is worming their way into his heart again.

He looks away, speeding up his gait to try and get away from the man. Sensing the younger boy's intention, the man also picks up his pace before lightly grabbing a hold of his right arm to stop him. They both pause in the middle of the empty hallway. Harry carefully avoided the man's concerned sapphires and kept his face blank. The man sighs, saying, "Forgive my imprudence, interactions with other people isn't something I excel at. But, if you need someone to speak to, I don't mind lending an ear." Harry said nothing, opting to not reply.

The man held in another sigh. Merlin, this boy is god damn stubborn. But he kept his annoyance to himself and straightened up, moving back to a more acceptable distance between two who were barely acquaintances. If he wants them to keep away from each other, then so be it. But, he will not relent. They can start from square one if that's what it takes. He looked over the boy coolly before clearing his throat and spoke, "I think it's time that we properly introduce ourselves to each other."

Harry looked up sharply at that. He didn't want anything to do with this man, and he's not going to allow him a chance to start to do so.

But he was too late. The man took one of Harry's hands and bowed down towards it, his lips almost touching the skin. Looking up at Harry from beneath his lashes, he spoke, "Thomas Servolo Indovinello, pleased to meet your acquaintance. May I be graced with access to your name, my dear?"


End file.
